Kitabı oku: «The Perfect Match»

Rave reviews for Kimberly Cates

The Gazebo

“[A] delightful sequel…Readers will find this

a great book for a winter’s evening in front of the

fire. Kimberly Cates has delivered up a

winner with this one.”

—The Romance Reader’s Connection

Picket Fence

“Forgiveness and acceptance are key elements in this

outstanding new family drama, which offers the deep

insight into the human soul and the touching story

that are hallmarks of a Cates novel.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews (4¹/₂ stars)

“Cates weaves a tantalising and emotional tale

that strums the heartstrings and keeps the reader

spellbound until the joyful, gratifying ending.”

—Booklist

More praise for Kimberly Cates

“One of the brightest stars of the romance genre.”

—New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen

The Perfect Match
Kimberly Cates

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To “Dodo,” Zora Miloradich Alpern, my very own

“fairy godmother.” Thank you for seeing me even

when I felt invisible.

And in loving memory of the dog she gave me:

Humphrey, the juvenile delinquent dachshund

who changed my life.

Dear Reader,

I adore dogs. This is no news to anyone who comes to my house to be greeted by three Cavalier King Charles spaniels (Sir Tristan, Sailor and Huckleberry) and a black Lab (Jake). Nor is it a surprise to people who hear them barking when I’m on the phone. My theory is that the phone emits a high-pitched beep that only dogs and toddlers can hear—especially when your editor is on the line. I have used dogs in numerous books, delighting in their canine personalities, and have rescued more strays than my husband cares to count, determined to find them perfect homes. What most people don’t know is how I started my love affair with all things furry—a juvenile delinquent dachshund my own “fairy godmother” filled my arms with when life suddenly got more complex than anyone could have guessed. I was eight years old and Humphrey was just the magic I needed.

This book is my tribute to families under fire, who face daunting odds with great courage. My loving thanks to parents who do daily battle to make their children walk, to “fairy godmothers” who make little girls’ wishes come true, and of course to the pets who have brightened my world.

Here’s to lint rollers, killer dust bunnies during shedding season and to the healing power of love. Real magic that makes little boys do karate and little girls dance, even when doctors don’t believe they ever will.

Kimberly Cates

CHAPTER ONE

THE TROUBLE WITH fairy godmothers was they never hung around long enough to see how their magic turned out, twenty-seven-year-old Rowena Brown thought, racing up the steps to the Whitewater Sheriff’s office. Now, Cinderella—she’d gotten the lowdown about the coach turning back into a pumpkin come midnight. And in Sleeping Beauty—even the Disney version—Maleficent blabbed to the whole kingdom about the princess’s pricking-her-finger-on-a-spindle clause.

But when great-auntie Maeve MacKinnon from County Meath had predicted Rowena would meet her soul mate in this quaint Illinois town, the ninety-year-old Irishwoman had failed to mention that three weeks after Rowena moved in, her personal bad boy would end up in the slammer for breaking and entering. God knew how much it was going to cost her to bail him out.

Rowena shook wisps of waist-long curls the color of daffodils out of her eyes and hugged her beloved red and gold tapestry bag tight against her in an effort to calm the butterflies rioting in her middle. Her sisters had claimed that Rowena could hide a kindergartener in the purse made out of a salvageable piece of antique Oriental rug she’d gotten at an art fair. Unfortunately at the moment, she was about as likely to find bail money inside the thing as she was a gap-toothed five-year-old.

Every cent Rowena had she’d invested in spiffing up her new shop on Main Street: nailing on a roof that didn’t leak, buying bright chrome cages to line the walls and putting in a “get acquainted” room designed to tempt even the most retiring wallflower to play. But if Clancy had already gotten himself in this much trouble, there was obviously one more accessory she needed to invest in. Stronger locks.

In a swirl of purple peasant skirt and jangling bracelets she shoved open the door to the drab brick building and rushed up to the desk labeled Information. Rowena couldn’t help doing a double-take. The officer/receptionist who presided over the gateway to the room beyond looked disturbingly like one of those guys in the shako hats who guarded the Wicked Witch’s castle in The Wizard of Oz.

He seemed as taken aback by Rowena’s appearance as she was with his. She should be used to it by now. But then, ever since she’d set foot in Whitewater, the whole town had been gaping at her as if she’d just dropped in from another planet. Maybe she had. Chicago, with its bustling streets and delicious diversity, seemed a galaxy away.

“I’ve come about Clancy Brown,” Rowena told the receptionist as she tried to shake the image that kept popping into her mind—the pot-bellied deputy chatting it up with one of those creepy flying monkeys.

“Brown, Brown…” the man mumbled to himself as he scanned the register in front of him. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no one here by that name.”

Panic buzzed in Rowena’s veins. “Clancy has to be here! My neighbor said one of your deputies picked him up about an hour ago.”

The deputy grabbed a mug that said Kiss My Bass. “Your neighbor must have been mistaken.”

“That’s impossible. The deputy gave her this card when he hauled Clancy off in his squad car.”

Smith—that was the name on the officer’s plastic name tag—slugged down a gulp of coffee as Rowena dug through her purse in search of the cardboard rectangle she’d plucked from Miss Marigold Pettigrew’s frantically gesticulating hands twenty minutes ago. The sharp corner of the card jammed under Rowena’s thumbnail. Breath hissed between her teeth at the sting, but she dragged the card out, triumphant.

“Here it is,” Rowena said, resisting the temptation to pop her thumb in her mouth to cool the pain. Instead she squinted at the embossed lettering. “Deputy Cash Lawless, Whitewater Sheriff’s Office.”

“Cash? Holy sh—” Smith choked, coffee threatening to spray the papers on his desk. He thumped his chest in an obvious effort to clear his windpipe. He struggled to sober himself, but his eyes were actually watering with the effort it took. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t realize that Deputy Lawless was the arresting officer in your case. The perpetrator you’re looking for—Mr., um, Brown—is currently awaiting transport to—”

“Death row if Cash has anything to say about it,” a rangy guy with a nose roughly the size of the Sears Tower called out, the room erupting in laughter.

“Death row?” Rowena’s stomach whirled as the Brown family’s hamster had the time her younger sister Ariel bounced Nibbles down the basement stairs in one of those clear plastic balls. “You can’t mean that!”

“Potter, you’re a real comedian.” Smith shot a quelling glare into the cluster of desks and uniformed officers. “Can’t you see the lady is upset? Hey, Cash?” he bellowed, angling his gaze in another direction. “The lady here needs to see you about that burglary you just busted up.” Shuffling, scuffling sounds came from all over the office as everyone craned to see the scene unfolding.

Applause broke out as a man stood up from the desk in the far right corner of the room, his back to Rowena and the chorus of gibes ringing out from his coworkers.

“My hero…”

“…deserves a medal for courage under fire…”

But Rowena barely heard the teasing. The business card fluttered, unheeded, from her numb fingers as she focused on the rear view of the dark-haired man who was the focus of the whole room’s attention. If Deputy Smith had reminded her of an evil castle guard, this Lawless seemed more like a general about to institute a Scorched Earth campaign and enjoy every minute of it.

Stiff shoulders stretched the back of a khaki shirt with sharp creases still ironed into the sleeves as he hung up the phone he was talking on. Dark hair cropped with almost military precision didn’t come close to reaching his collar. His well-tailored pants skimmed an ass a jeans model would envy, muscular legs seeming almost too long to be real. And clean? Her mom could do surgery on that desk of his. Rowena figured there wasn’t a speck of lint or dog hair in the world rash enough to cling to the man’s clothing. Although women would probably stand in line to take them off.

She smoothed one hand down the crinkled fabric of her peasant skirt, reminding herself she’d rumpled it on purpose as Lawless turned around to face her. Every nerve in Rowena’s body flashed an all-points bulletin: Warning—subject armed and dangerous. Do not approach.

The deputy even had warning flares of a sort emblazoned on his broad chest, Rowena gauged, his starched shirtfront splotched with vivid orange and yellow stains.

His features were harder to make out, half obscured as they were by the blue beanbag-shaped thing he clutched to the left side of his face. But she glimpsed a belligerent chin, a hawklike nose and a vein beating a very dangerous rhythm in his right temple.

“Head right on back there, Ms. Brown.” Deputy Smith gestured with his coffee cup. “Deputy Lawless will see you now.”

Rowena thanked him and started toward the far more intimidating man. Her heart raced. Deputy Lawless looked for all the world as if he was itching to shoot the place up. That is, if someone could shoot up a crowded sheriff’s office with only one working eye.

And that was all Deputy Lawless had at the moment, from what Rowena could tell. The thing on his face was an icepack. His other eye, a penetrating whiskey brown, glowered at Rowena as if she’d just ripped off the collection box for the sheriff department’s Widows and Orphans Christmas Fund.

Oh, God, Rowena thought as the man lowered the cold pack. His eye was almost swollen shut. This was not good. Clancy had really ticked this guy off. Was it possible that her Clancy had given him that shiner? No way, Rowena reassured herself quickly. Clancy might be completely out of control, but he would never hurt a flea.

Deputy Lawless crossed to a sink by a coffee station and dumped the icepack, then homed in on Rowena, his face unyielding as stone.

“Deputy Lawless.” She started to offer him her hand, then thought better of it, winding her fingers in the strap of her bag instead. “I’m Rowena Brown. I own the new pet shop in town.”

The deputy’s disapproving gaze swept from the lingerie-inspired camisole clinging to her shoulders by thin spaghetti straps to the scuffed toes of the Frye boots one of her mother’s friends had broken in at a protest march in the seventies. “I know who you are.”

He didn’t say “everybody in town does,” but Rowena could hear what he was thinking. You’re the crazy lady who claims she can read animals’ minds.

Not that she could, exactly. It was more like being a sort of matchmaker. Sensing when a certain person and a certain pet were destined for each other. And once that instinct kicked in, she had no peace until she’d settled them together. Another supposed “gift” from Auntie Maeve, inspired by the old tin-whistle tucked in the desk drawer at the pet shop.

Wouldn’t that be big fun to explain to the stone-faced man standing before her? A smear of red on the left side of his corded throat snagged her gaze. Blood? Her lungs squeezed shut. Better to get down to the crisis at hand.

“There’s been a terrible misunderstanding.” She couldn’t stop staring at his neck, terrified she’d find broken skin.

Aware of the direction of Rowena’s gaze, Lawless swiped one hand against the spot on his neck, then glanced down at his stained fingers. A muscle in his jaw knotted as he grabbed a tissue and scrubbed the color away. Thank God, Rowena thought. His skin was smooth, tanned—far too luscious looking for anybody as tightly wound as he was.

“Miss Marigold ran over to my shop the instant I got back and told me she’d called you,” Rowena continued. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. She’s flighty as a hummingbird trapped in a mason jar.”

Lawless gave the best Medusa impression Rowena had ever seen—the guy should have been able to turn her into stone with a look like that. The last thing Rowena needed was to get this man’s back up any more than it already was.

Rowena’s hand fluttered as if to sweep her too-colorful description of Marigold Pettigrew away. “What I mean to say is that Miss Marigold is very excitable.”

Lawless’s scowl chilled even further. “Most people tend to get a little upset when they hear an intruder bashing around on the first floor of their house. Even in small towns bad things can happen to women who live alone.”

Guilt elbowed Rowena as she imagined her neighbor terrified. “You’re right, of course. I’m so sorry she was upset.”

She was getting frostbite here. Lawless folded his arms over his chest. The stains on his shirt seemed as foreign to him as blacked-out teeth on Cary Grant. It looked to Rowena as if the deputy had tried to scrub out the spots peeking over those tautly muscled arms, but had given up. “By the time I got to Miss Marigold’s place, her shop was in shambles,” he said. “God knows how long it will take her to clean it up.”

Chastened, Rowena swallowed hard. “I’m sure Clancy didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“Clancy?” The deputy’s gaze narrowed. He winced as the bruised skin around his eye tugged. “Who’s Clancy?”

At Lawless’ blank look, Rowena rushed to explain. “My dog. He’s about this high.” She held her hand mid-waist. “Black, with a white patch on his chest.”

Lawless’ lip curled, his voice rough around the edges as if he smoked a pack a day. Funny, he didn’t smell of tobacco. “There’s no Clancy here, Ms. Brown.”

Rowena cocked her head to one side, confused. “But Miss Marigold said that my dog—”

“The dog that broke into the tea shop is named Destroyer.”

Alarm bells jangled Rowena’s nerves. Was it possible this Lawless man knew…She scrambled for a quick feint, settling on wide-eyed innocence. “No, Deputy. You’re mistaken. My Clancy—”

Lawless cut her off. “Destroyer has a rap sheet of prior offenses three pages long. Most of which I had to file, since he has a rotten habit of popping up on my shift like Cujo out of a closet.”

Rats. Rats. Double rats, Rowena thought, struggling to keep her voice calm. “First of all, Cujo was a Saint Bernard and Clancy is a Newfoundland. Second, Stephen King writes fiction, Deputy Lawless. The dog in that novel was no more real than the crazed Chevy he wrote about in Christine.”

“The King book this case reminds me of is Pet Sematary, where animals keep coming back from the dead. Three weeks ago, I delivered this very dog to Animal Control clear across the county and they swore I’d never see him again.”

Outrage flared in Rowena’s chest, drowning caution. “Animal Control?” She sputtered. “Don’t you know how many animals they have to put down?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Deputy Lawless planted his fists on his narrow hips. “They don’t have any choice when an animal is out of control and a danger to others.”

“Clancy’s not a danger to anyone!” Rowena protested. “You’re mixing him up with—with some other dog. It’s a case of mistaken identity.”

The chill in Lawless’ tone snapped. “Lady, I could pick Destroyer out of any lineup you could name,” he growled. “That dog has been a pain in my behind for almost a year. He’s a public nuisance, running at large. And this time he added assaulting an officer to the mix.”

“Assault?” Rowena’s heart hit the floor. “Did he bite you?”

A barely stifled laugh came from somewhere in the room, the other officers enjoying the show. A muscle in the deputy’s jaw jumped in irritation. “He slammed one of Ms. Marigold’s swinging doors into my face.” Color darkened Lawless’ high-set cheekbones. “When I identified myself as law enforcement, the dog lunged through the swinging doors between the kitchen and the tea room and—”

“That was an accident,” Rowena objected, imagining Clancy’s joyful response to a human voice. “He was just trying to greet you.”

“That dog couldn’t have landed that blow any squarer if he’d aimed it!” Lawless challenged, his good eye blazing.

“You were probably in danger of being licked to death!” Rowena scoffed. “He loves people.”

“Yeah. That dog adores me. About as much as I like him.”

“If Clancy caused trouble, I’m the one to blame.” Rowena thumped her chest with her flattened palm.

“If he caused trouble?” Lawless pointed to his injured eye.

Rowena swallowed hard. That was a really impressive shade of purple the deputy had going there. “What I’m trying to say is that Clancy’s behavior is my responsibility.”

“Then you should be damned glad it’s my eye that’s turning black and blue. If that little old lady had been walking into the dining room with those scones she’d just baked you’d have a hell of a lawsuit on your hands.”

“Scones?” Rowena gasped. “Oh, God. That must’ve been what he was after.” When she had researched the Newfie’s history, she’d cried over the report about how badly his first owner had neglected him. Clancy still went a little postal when his dinner was late.

She’d love to get her hands on the monster that had left him to starve. “Deputy Lawless, if you only knew about what Clancy went through before I got him—”

“I’m more worried about what almost happened at that tea shop,” Lawless cut in, judge, jury and executioner all rolled into one. “If that dog had bowled Miss Marigold over, he would have shattered her into a million pieces.”

Rowena paled at the image the deputy painted in her mind. Her hand clenched around the strap of the tapestry bag. “But he didn’t.”

“This time,” Lawless asserted grimly. “Now I don’t care how many aliases you and those bleeding heart animal lovers at the shelter give this monster. He’s a menace. And it’s my duty to make damned sure he doesn’t get another chance to break someone’s hip.”

“But you don’t have any legal recourse,” Rowena said with an edge of desperation. “He didn’t bite anybody. Besides, it’s his first offense.”

Lawless rolled his good eye. “And Charles Manson just crashed a few parties. Like I told you, Ms. Brown, Destroyer—”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. This is just a case of mistaken identity. The dog in question isn’t this Destroyer maniac you keep running on about. The dog you picked up is my dog, Clancy. He’s had all his shots. All his registration stuff is filed. I’ll pay for whatever damage he did to Miss Marigold’s tea shop.”

“You sure will. You’re legally liable,” Lawless said. “Once you take a look and add up the cost of what Destroyer’s done you’ll probably be begging me to take the dog back to the shelter. Any sane person would.”

“And I’m not sane, is that what you’re implying? Because I think an animal’s life is worth more than—than a bunch of old china teapots?” Rowena craned up on tiptoe, peering around the room in an effort to find her dog. “I’ll buy the woman new ones.”

“She doesn’t want new ones. Some of those had been in Ms. Marigold’s family since the Revolutionary War. If you had seen that poor old woman picking up all those bits of broken china, crying her heart out…”

Rowena fretted her bottom lip at the picture Lawless painted, but a long, mournful howl from somewhere nearby drove back anything but fear for the animal in such danger. She edged around the deputy and tried to make a break toward the sound. But his hand closed around her arm, stopping her in her tracks. Rowena started at the feel of his callused palm against her bare skin, his fingers imbued with a more powerful authority than even the badge pinned on his shirt-pocket gave him.

“I know this is hard,” Deputy Lawless said. “But there are plenty of other dogs in the world who need homes. This one is hopeless.”

Rowena pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Even a dog that really attacks someone gets a second chance! This was a mistake! Just a mistake!” Like the ones you’ve been making lately? her older sister Bryony’s voice nagged in her head. “But then, I suppose you’ve never made one before, have you, Deputy Lawless?”

The man glanced away, something sparking in his eyes. Regret? Bitterness? It was gone before she could tell.

“Ms. Brown, I’ve had a very bad day.” He enunciated so carefully she could almost feel black ice cracking under her feet. “Ten minutes before I got off duty I was called to Miss Marigold’s Tea Shop to investigate a burglary in progress. I entered the premises with my gun drawn, and got a door slammed in my face. By a dog who proceeds to smear my uniform with the colored frosting for three birthday cakes. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I have to haul Destroyer—”

“Clancy.”

“Whatever. I had to haul that demon dog back to the station so that I could file a mountain of paperwork which made me late to a very important appointment.”

“An appointment for what? The Cruella de Vil Fan Club?”

The man’s jaw clenched so hard, Rowena bet he could have snapped a bullet in two between his teeth. Keep your smart mouth under control, Rowena, she thought. Pulling the man’s chain more than you already have isn’t going to help. Deputy Lawless looked as if he’d gone terminal when it came to a sense of humor.

Rowena strained up on tiptoe, finally seeing a familiar mountain of black fur in what must be some kind of holding cell. Clancy strained to squeeze his muzzle through the bars in an effort to lick the stout man next door who was obviously sleeping off last night’s bender. Her heart twisted, eyes stung. Even here the Newfie was trying to take care of whoever was within reach.

“Ms. Brown, I’m responsible for protecting the people of Whitewater County,” Deputy Pompous said, as if she were a recalcitrant two-year-old. “I’ve called the shelter and told them Destroyer is coming.”

Her chin bumped up. “Well, you’ll have to call them back. This is my dog Clancy Brown, Deputy Lawless, and I’ll fight you for him in any court you can name to prove it. And what’s more, I’ll win. Microchips don’t lie.”

“Micro what?”

“Take him to any shelter in the country and they’ll wave their magic wand over him and—bingo!—my name will bleep up on their nifty little scanner screen. Any competent veterinarian can verify Clancy’s identity under oath. If you persist in persecuting my dog—”

“Persecuting?” Lawless scoffed.

“—you’re going to be spending an awful lot of time doing that paperwork you hate, preparing for a case you’re going to lose. Is this unfortunate little grudge of yours really worth spending the taxpayers’ money on?”

Rowena could see the deputy’s control slip another notch. Steely eyes held hers for a long moment in a wrestling match of wills. She didn’t like confrontation, but damned if she was going to back down. Lawless blinked first.

“Fine,” he said at last through gritted teeth. “Take the damned dog. That is, if you’ve got enough nerve to take legal—and financial—responsibility for any damage he causes in the future.”

“Absolutely.” Rowena tried not to think about what her mother would have to say about her promise. But Dr. Nadine Brown’s features swam into Rowena’s consciousness, her mother’s brow creased with all too familiar exasperation. What are you thinking? That’s a legally binding document he’s talking about. You don’t even know how you’re going to pay for the tea shop debacle, let alone the next disaster!

But Rowena would have signed a deal with the devil himself to keep animal control from sticking a needle in Clancy’s vein. The moment she had glimpsed his big dark eyes from behind the bars of the cage in “doggie death row” half an hour before he was scheduled to be euthanized, she’d felt a shock down to her toes. A wild, desperate need to swoop him into her arms, save him.

And that would be different from the way you react to any animal in trouble exactly how? Rowena imagined her sister Bryony taunting.

But Clancy was different. There was something special about this dog. Rowena felt it in her bones. A life he needed to live, work he was destined to do, a future he had to have or else…

“Ms. Brown?” Lawless’ voice snapped Rowena back into the sheriff’s office to face yet another disapproving frown. “I’m beginning a new file on the dog. If he ever gets loose again, I’m going to have him legally declared a public nuisance. And from that point on, I’ll take every step the law allows to see that he’s off the streets permanently. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She wondered if he was smart enough to know she meant it as an insult.

Apparently so. His cheeks darkened. “You’ll have to fill out some paperwork before I can release him.” He checked his watch again, an even deeper frustration darkening his face. “Which means I can pretty much kiss my appointment goodbye. They’ll be closed before I—”

“It’s an appointment,” Rowena fired back, her temper flaring. “People reschedule them all the time, Deputy.”

“Is that so?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. This isn’t the end of the world. You aren’t going to jail because of it. Small children aren’t going to die because of it.”

Whoa! Rowena took a step backward at the rage in Lawless’ eyes. What was she doing, poking him with a sharp stick? Clancy didn’t have his get-out-of-jail-free card yet. Did she want Deputy Whiplash to change his mind?

She swallowed the rest of her anger and reached for the firm tone she used to calm hostile animals. “Listen. Obviously we’re not going to agree on this. Just show me where to sign and Clancy and I will get out of your way.”

The deputy sat down at his desk.

“Couldn’t we let Clancy out first before you whip out his release papers? I hate the idea of him behind bars.”

“And I hate the idea of him back on the street. Looks like we’re both going to have to get used to disappointment. When I open that cell, all I want to see is the door hitting him in his backside. Give me any more time and I might just change my mind.”

Rowena opened her mouth, closed it. Could the deputy do that? Keep Clancy here if Lawless decided to turn stubborn about it? She didn’t know the legalities, but she didn’t dare risk it. She sank down on the chair across from him and turned her attention to something she figured couldn’t get her in trouble, digging the leash she’d brought with her out of her bag.

Satisfied with her concession, Lawless retrieved a set of forms from his desk and began to fill them in. After twenty-some minutes, he shoved them across the desk to her. Taking out her favorite pen, she scrawled her name in bright green ink.

“There,” she said, adding a flourish. “As to the damages and such, you know where to find me if you’ve got any questions about—well, anything. My shop is—”

“I know where it is. If there isn’t a law against building a pet shop across the street from an elementary school playground, there should be.”

Rowena compressed her lips. “If you want to change the law you’ll have to take that up with your alderman or councilman or whatever you have here. But it’s only fair to tell you that they were pretty much thrilled when they heard a new business was coming to town.”

“That was before they knew—”

“Knew what?” Rowena dared him to finish the sentence, even though she could have filled in the gist of it herself. Before they knew some big-city nutcase was moving in. But Lawless didn’t rise to the bait, probably heeding some office policy about insulting the locals only when necessary.

“Never mind. Let’s just get this over and done with.” The deputy pushed himself to his feet and started toward the back of the building, nabbing a set of keys on the way. She followed him, straining to get a better view of the holding cell beyond his rigid silhouette.

Her heart leapt as she glimpsed the Newfoundland busily scratching at the wall to the cell next door, a worried look in those big brown eyes, as if Clancy knew something was wrong with the drunk on the other side. There was no way to tell the dog the human’s problems were self-inflicted. Or that, at the moment, she and Clancy had enough trouble of their own. Still, she couldn’t help but be grateful to the deputy—asshole though he was—for releasing her dog in the end.

“You won’t regret this, Deputy Lawless,” she said, itching to throw her arms around the Newfie.

“I already do.”

Rowena swallowed hard. What could she say? “You’ll never see either one of us again.”

“Ms. Brown, I’m just not that lucky. In fact—wait.” He pressed his fingertips to his temples, closed his eyes in a mock trance. “I’m peering into the future…I see…”

“I don’t see into the future,” Rowena cut in. “I just feel—” She stopped, cursing herself for a fool. Why did she even bother to attempt to explain her gift? She’d tried it before. But that was what had started the whispering behind her back, triggered the abrupt silences when she walked into a store or passed someone on Whitewater’s streets.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Rowena said, trying hard not to hurt.

“Let’s try and keep it that way.”

“Deputy Lawless, I promise that Clancy—”

Lawless whipped around to face her, his features grim, the keys jangling in his hand. “Listen, lady, I don’t care how many aliases you give that dog. He’s still the same fence-breaking, tire-chewing, steak-stealing juvenile delinquent he always was.”

“He is not!”

“Destroyer!” the deputy called sharply.

In the holding cell, the Newfoundland wheeled away from the wall and leaped up to plant his plate-sized paws on the bars. Eager canine eyes fastened on Lawless, the dog’s bearlike body quivering in excitement as if to say Here I am! Yeah, that’s me, boss! The Newfie’s tongue lolled out of his cavernous mouth in a goofy grin, his giant tail wagging so hard it could have knocked someone out.

Lawless crossed his arms over his broad chest and pinned Rowena with his pointed glare. “I rest my case.”

CHAPTER TWO

ELVIS WAS PRACTICING his pick-up lines again. Not a good idea, when the after-school crowd was due to burst into the pet shop at any moment. The irascible African Gray parrot’s vocabulary wasn’t exactly G-rated, and the last thing Rowena needed was for a mob of angry parents to storm into Open Arms, ready to burn the local witch at the stake.

If they made up their minds to do it there wouldn’t be any problem finding a public official in Whitewater to light the fire. Deputy Lawless would be happy to donate a whole book of matches to the cause of ridding his town of an unsavory element.

Rowena grimaced. Fortunately for her, even the deputy would have a hard time getting a blaze going today. A miserable cold drizzle had been falling all day, leaving the world beyond her front window soggy and gray. That meant there would be an hour of mopping muddy footprints before she closed up for the night. One could hardly expect kids charging in to see puppies and kittens to stop to wipe their feet.

But while they were leaving all of those damp patches on her floor, she’d just as soon they didn’t pick up any colorful language, courtesy of the store’s most incorrigible rogue. She left off cleaning the gecko aquarium and went to fetch the black drape she used to throw over Elvis’s cage to shut him up temporarily. Not that she had much hope her technique would work any better than her efforts to drive Cash Lawless out of her head.

Time and time again in the three days since she’d left the ill-tempered deputy’s office his chiseled features flashed into focus just when she’d least expected it. Those heavy brows, the arrogant jut of his nose, his mouth drawn into a sneer that almost—almost—negated the sexy shape of his lips. Too bad the man had such rotten things to say to her. Her cheeks heated as she remembered him taunting: Wait…just a minute…I’m peering into the future…

Jerk face.

The name a freckle-faced sixth grader had called his classmate in the shop the day before rose in her mind, the label not particularly eloquent, but describing Lawless to perfection, nonetheless.

He’d made it plain what he thought of her. He’d taken all of ten minutes to form his opinion. Less than that, really. He’d had his mind made up even before he met her. But then her “crimes” against Whitewater’s social order reached even deeper than opening a pet shop across from the school, as far as Lawless was concerned. Like far too many of the people in this small town, he would’ve been happy to deem just being different a crime. And if Rowena was anything, she was different.

Rowena swallowed hard, her fingers tightening in the folds of the cage drape. A familiar awkwardness settled over her, inescapable as the plaster dust when Open Arms was a construction site. Self-doubt crowded her.

What if her move here had been exactly the reckless mistake her mother and sisters had predicted? She’d invested every cent of the legacy her godmother had left her, the money that was supposed to be her nest egg. Knowing that safety net existed had been the only thing that had comforted her mother when Rowena had dropped out of vet school last spring.

She closed her eyes, remembering how the painful scene had ended in the wee hours of the morning, once Nadine Brown had realized there was no budging Rowena from the course she’d chosen.

Gray-faced with exhaustion, bordering on tears the cool and capable Dr. Brown never shed, Rowena’s mother had surrendered.

At least you’ll always have your inheritance to rely on, Nadine had said a week after Maeve’s funeral.

About my inheritance, Mom. While Auntie Maeve was in the hospital, we talked about how I should use it. She said it would help me find my destiny.

Your what?

My destiny. She didn’t dare say “soul mate” as the irrepressible Maeve had. Just listen, Mom. I’ve thought this whole plan out. You and Bryony and Ariel are right. I can’t save every stray I run across. But just think how many I could place if I used that money to work in tandem with a shelter, helping rehabilitate rescue dogs and cats, finding them homes.

And you’re going to support yourself how?

I could design all kinds of stuff—collars and bowls—and, well, sell fun pet supplies for ready cash, and I’d keep the pets I’m working with at the shop all day, so I can match them with owners. I know it’s a little unorthodox, but—

A little? her mother had exclaimed. Rowena, I’m trying to understand this. I really am. But it bewilders me that a young woman as bright and talented as you are would fling away six years of education to open a pet shop anywhere, let alone in a town where you don’t know a soul, hours away from your family. And with pets someone has already rejected? For heaven’s sake, why?

A question impossible to answer in a way her mother could understand.

Because I feel right inside when I’m placing rescue pets, and in vet school I felt wrong…

Rowena should have saved her breath. Article number one in the Brown Family Constitution was “logic above all,” mere instinct far too messy. “Rowena’s Voodoo,” her younger sister Ariel called it. Even now, pushing twenty-five, she still made “woo woo” sound effects to tease.

Rowena tossed the drape over the parrot’s cage in an effort to throw Elvis into a make-believe night, hoping that the wily bird would settle down, fall asleep and be blessedly silent.

Not that she had much hope that her ruse would work. Could you arrest a bird for profanity? Public indecency? Corrupting the innocence of a minor? Maybe she’d ask the good deputy, if she were ever unfortunate enough to run into him again.

Her mind filled with eyes that flashed, dark and angry, when she’d told him missing the appointment was no big deal. Talk about overreacting! And yet, didn’t it stand to reason that anyone who worked in law enforcement was bound to be a control freak? At least on some level. And it seemed that the needle on Lawless’ irritation meter jumped right off the charts where Rowena was concerned.

Guilt itched as she remembered the way he had chewed her out, describing Miss Marigold’s despair over her broken treasures. Rowena’s next-door neighbor had been heartbroken. Rowena had been hosing off some cage trays at the back of the shop the night of Clancy’s Great Scone Raid when she had seen the sixty-year-old woman carrying out a big box of something that clinked as she moved. Before Clancy’s escapade, Rowena might have plopped down the hose and hurried over to help, even if the lady did tend to look bug-eyed with alarm every time Rowena said hello.

But this time, Rowena had just stood rooted to the spot as Miss Marigold hauled her burden to where the garbage would be picked up the next morning. The older woman had been weeping, her nose chafed Rudolph-red, her eyes all swollen behind cat’s-eye glasses she’d probably bought sometime during the 1960s.

Rowena had tried to apologize, her stomach as knotted as her garden hose. But before she could get out more than a few words, Miss Marigold had dropped her box with a horrific crash and fled back into the rear entrance of the tea shop, as if Rowena had set an attack dog snapping at her heels.

Rowena had crossed to where the box lay off-kilter on one side. A china tea spout decorated with a motif of peacock feathers lay in the gravel, a teapot lid with a finial shaped like a cat a few feet beyond. Rowena stooped to pick each up, amazed at the delicate work.

She stared down into the box. Lawless had been right about one thing. Even if she did pay for the damages, it wouldn’t matter. She’d never be able to piece her neighbor’s treasures together again.

She’d lifted Miss Marigold’s box into her arms, holding it for a long time, not knowing exactly what to do with it. But somehow in spite of the wreckage she couldn’t leave the broken china for the garbage man to take. Instead she’d stuck it in her back room.

And what are you going to do, oh brilliant one? Wave your hands and say abracadabra? Cast some magical spell that would make the teapots whole again? Now, that would be a gift she’d be grateful to have at the moment.

The school bell rang in the distance, bringing Rowena back to the moment at hand. A parade of delighted faces, kids jabbering and laughing and cajoling their parents to come into the shop just to take a look. She’d done her best to make Open Arms irresistible, and it seemed where Whitewater’s children were concerned she’d succeeded.

At least with all of them except one.

Rowena turned away from the parrot’s cage and glimpsed an all too familiar small figure scowling into the store’s front window. Yes. Her crabby ghost was back again, hovering under the rainbow-striped awning, a few feet away from the door the kid had never once entered. Mousy brown hair was swept into a ponytail, exposing sharp drawn features. Her brow crinkled in aggravation, the folds of a duckling-yellow slicker gleaming from the rain.

The first time Rowena had seen the nine-or-so-year-old girl she’d assumed that the kid’s disgruntled expression was due to the glare reflecting off the window into the child’s eyes. But today there wasn’t a sunbeam for miles and those eyes behind round silver wire glasses still glared into the shop’s interior as if something about the place frustrated her beyond bearing.

Rowena had tried to imagine what could possibly have displeased the child, but she’d been so busy working the kinks out of the shop’s layout that she’d pushed her questions to the back of her mind. But today, the ghost finally shoved Rowena’s curiosity right over the edge.

In spite of the awning’s shelter, the child was trying to keep an adult-sized purple umbrella over her head while she wrestled with a book the size of a dictionary. That was one serious piece of literature, Rowena thought. Wasn’t that monstrosity of a volume a little much for a fourth grader to handle? Surely her ghost couldn’t be reading something that advanced, even if the kid was one of those pint-sized geniuses that made the newspapers now and then.

All business under the wavering shelter of the umbrella, the girl balanced the volume between the pet shop’s window ledge and her tummy and opened the book to one of about a dozen pages marked with scraps of orange construction paper.

Rowena watched the child study what must be pictures of some kind, then raise those too-solemn eyes to peer intently back into the pet shop interior. Frowning in obvious frustration, the disgruntled little girl plunged on to the next marked page, studying the book again. The poor little thing was going to put herself in traction wrestling with a volume that heavy.

Rowena glanced around her store and, finding it empty for the moment, ducked outside. A gust of wind sprinkled her left side with rain, her orange linen tunic sticking in chill, damp patches to her arm. But the little scowler was so intent on whatever she was reading she didn’t even notice anyone approach. Rowena couldn’t help but be amused by the way the kid screwed her face up in fearsome concentration.

“Hi, there,” Rowena said.

The child jumped as if Rowena had just yelled “boo,” the book starting to tumble from her small hands. Rowena made a quick grab for the volume, nearly throwing her back out in her effort to keep the thing from landing in the rain puddle below.

“Whew, that was close,” Rowena said, eyeing the murky pool that covered the bottom inch or so of the girl’s green sneakers. The poor kid’s feet must be soaked.

Stubbornly silent, the child looked up at Rowena with eyes a woodsy color, somewhere between green and brown. Rowena might have been tempted to laugh out loud if she weren’t sure she’d wound the soggy little soul’s dignity. Instead, she tried to lighten the mood.

“You know, you keep scrunching your face like that, it’s going to freeze that way.”

“Grownups always say that. But I never saw a single person’s face freeze. Even the principal’s and he looks grumpy all the time.”

Smiling to herself at the girl’s cranky response, Rowena glanced down at the volume in her hands. “This is some book you’ve got here. It’s almost as big as you are.”

“That’s an exaggeration.” The five-syllable word came so naturally from the child’s mouth Rowena stared. “If the book was big as me I couldn’t carry it at all.”

“Right,” Rowena said, nonplussed. She tapped the book’s spine. “Still, it looks pretty heavy. Wouldn’t it fit in your backpack?” Rowena nudged the olive drab bag slung over the child’s narrow shoulders. “Most of the kids I see around here have pictures of superheroes or Disney princesses on theirs. Yours looks as if you could climb Mount Everest and not have to worry about it splitting.”

She’d hoped to coax a smile out of the little girl. Instead, the child leveled her with a serious stare.

“I’m too young to climb Mount Everest. People freeze to death up there, you know.”

“It was a joke…well, at least it was supposed to be.”

The child peered at her, silent.

“You want to come in out of the rain?”

The child shook her head. A schoolbus passed by, splashing water in an arc that spattered the backs of Rowena’s jeans. She sighed but tried again.

“My name is Rowena, what’s yours?”

“Charlie.” The little girl waited, as if expecting some comment about that being a boy’s name.

Rowena had been teased on the playground because of her unusual name often enough to catch on. “I like it. Your name, I mean.”

“I wasn’t hurting anything,” Charlie said.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, lugging a book this size around,” Rowena observed. She flipped to the cover and read the title aloud. “MacGonagle’s International Expert’s Encyclopedia of Dog Breeds.” She flipped it open to a page, her own eyes crossing at the complex descriptions. “Whoa! You can read this stuff?”

The girl’s lips pursed. “I’m only in fourth grade you know.”

Okay, so the kid did have that fourth grade look-permanent teeth still too big for her face, marker-stained hands from some art project during the day. But her eyes looked far older than they should. Not to mention the child had been studying the book as if she were a zoologist trying to unlock the mystery of some exotic species.

“Do you like dogs?” Rowena asked.

Charlie nodded. “All three of them.”

“You’ve got three dogs?” Rowena asked in surprise. She wouldn’t have guessed it. The kid didn’t have the look of someone who had a pet waiting at home to lavish her with unconditional love. “What are their names?”

“Tiffany and Sweet Pea and Sugar Cookie. But I don’t have them now,” Charlie said softly. “Mommy didn’t like it when they weren’t puppies anymore. She gave them away when they got big and then she’d get another puppy again. After last time, my daddy said absolutely no more dogs. Not ever.” For the first time, Rowena saw vulnerability in the little girl’s face. Charlie caught her bottom lip between her teeth and blinked hard. “Sugar Cookie liked me best.”

Rowena’s blood boiled. Anyone could make one mistake—get a dog that didn’t work out for some unforeseen reason. But to bring home three different dogs and then dump them each in turn when Mom got tired of them…? It seemed Charlie’s parents were exactly the kind of pet owners who abandoned the pets she was trying to save. Charlie had paid the price, too. The heartbreak was still in her eyes.

“So now that your puppies are gone you just look at pictures?”

“Not usually. It makes me sad. But since you moved in here, well, I just have to. It’s driving me crazy.”

Deputy Lawless’ disgust at the shop’s location flashed into Rowena’s mind. She hadn’t considered it from the perspective of a woebegone little waif like Charlie. Rowena laid the dog book gently into the girl’s arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“That my shop drives you crazy.”

“It’s the kids at school that make me crazy. They say you’ve got a bear in here. Even my best friend Hope Stone says so. It’s all my little sister talks about. She says she wants to pet the grizzly bear.” Charlie face crumpled in exasperation. “You can’t pet a grizzly bear! They chew people’s arms off. I saw it on Animal Planet.”

Rowena bit back a smile. “I think I caught that show, too.”

“So that big black thing you’ve got in here just has to be a dog. But I never saw one that big. Maybe you could just tell me what kind he is, because this book is getting real heavy.”

“How about if I show you, instead? Would you like to give Clancy a treat?”

“I don’t know…” Longing filled Charlie’s eyes. She leaned her umbrella against the wall so she could check a watch a scuba diver would envy. She glanced nervously over her shoulder at the street. “Can you show me real fast?”

“You bet. I’ll even mark his picture in your book. That way you can prove to the other kids you were right when you go to school tomorrow.”

That offer clinched the deal. Charlie handed her the book, then took a deep breath. She slipped her hand into Rowena’s as she walked through the door.

Rowena smiled as she led the little girl to the playroom where Clancy was tossing a regulation-size football into the air and trying to catch it. His white teeth flashed, and Rowena felt Charlie’s hand tighten its hold on hers.

“That’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen.” Charlie swallowed hard, her eyes wide as sunflowers.

“He’s not even full grown yet. You should have seen the first Newfie I rescued. Huey was 200 pounds in his heyday.”

Charlie slid the straps of her backpack down her arms and set the bag on the floor. She stared at the dog, fascinated. “Did Huey ever bite anybody? By mistake? I mean, my head kind of looks like a football.”

“Your head isn’t nearly pointy enough on top,” Rowena said, ruffling the child’s hair. “Besides, you’re far too pretty to be mistaken for that chewed-up mess of a football.”

Green eyes regarded her solemnly. “I’m not pretty. My best friend Hope says she wants the prettiest kitty in the whole wide world for her birthday. People only want the cute ones.”

“People may think they want the cutest one at first. But sometimes I can change the way someone sees the kitty,” Rowena tried to explain. “Make them see the ‘pretty’ in an animal that no one else can see. That’s what I do. I take in animals that other people think are too broken—in their hearts, you know?—for anybody to take home. Then I find somebody to love them.”

Charlie cocked her head to one side. “Doesn’t anybody love him?” She pointed to Clancy.

As a matter of fact, Rowena thought, there were quite a few people who downright hated the poor dog. But Charlie didn’t need to know about how quickly Clancy’s official Whitewater lynch mob was growing.

“Someday, someone besides me will love him,” Rowena said.

“Only if he’s a real good, right? And he never, ever does anything bad again?”

Rowena chuckled. “I certainly hope that’s not how it works or nobody would ever love me at all! I make mistakes all the time. I bet you do, too.”

“Not anymore,” Charlie said soberly. “Except for coming in here when I’m not supposed to.”

“Ah.” A lightbulb went off in Rowena’s head. “So that’s why you never came into the shop before.” For a moment she considered ushering the child out the door. She didn’t need some parent furious because she’d encouraged Charlie’s disobedience. But Charlie seemed so sad, and Clancy’s specialty was making people smile.

Decision made, Rowena gave Charlie a conspiratorial wink. “If this is supposed to be a secret mission we’d better hurry.”

Rowena opened the gate to the playroom. Clancy bounded toward them. “Sit!” Rowena commanded. Clancy dropped like a rock, looking so virtuous she almost laughed aloud. But in spite of the halo Clancy appeared to have fixed over his head, the dog was scooting toward them, ever so surreptitiously, on his butt.

Rowena dug in her jeans pocket for the heartworm medicine she’d tucked in there earlier. Pulling out the packet, she pushed the cube through the foil on the back side of the plastic blister. She put the cube in the little girl’s hand. “Here you go, Charlie.”

Charlie looked from the little block on her hand to a glass jar filled with bone-shaped cookies. She regarded the cube warily. “How come this treat was all wrapped up like that?”

Rowena grinned at the child’s quick intelligence. “I’ll tell you a secret. That’s really Clancy’s heartworm medicine, so he won’t get sick. But it tastes just like a treat.”

“Sure it does.” Charlie grimaced. She bit her bottom lip, her gaze skittering nervously to Rowena’s. “What if he gets mad that I tricked him?”

“He won’t hurt you. I promise,” Rowena urged. “And just think about the story you’ll have to tell Hope tomorrow. I’ll even snap your picture with my camera.” Rowena picked up her old instamatic from the ledge. “It spits the picture out right away. You can take it with you. Would you like that?”

Charlie nodded. “I could hide it in my secret place. That way Daddy would never know I was bad.”

Rowena had had her own share of misadventures as a child, and while she’d dreaded being caught and the punishment that was sure to follow, she’d always been sure she’d be forgiven. There was something darker, deeper in Charlie’s eyes, as if the child was walking on thin ice and waiting to fall through. Thank heavens Charlie’s fascination with the dog ran greater than her fear.

Charlie looked deep into the dog’s eyes then took a step toward him, the cube clutched in her hand. “I know she told you this is a treat, but it’s not,” Charlie said earnestly. “It’s probably going to taste real yucky, but it’ll be good for you.” She uncurled her fingers. “Just close your eyes and swallow it real quick.”

As if he understood every word, Clancy swept the chew into his mouth with one lick of his pink tongue and gulped it down, surprising a laugh out of the solemn child. Rowena snapped the picture, delighted.

“That tickles, huh?” Rowena asked as the dog wagged his giant-sized tail. “He likes you.”

For the first time, the creases in Charlie’s brow vanished, the tightness in her face softened. “I like him, too.”

“Would you like to brush him while I mark that page in your book?”

Charlie nodded. Rowena took the picture the camera spit out and put it aside to develop. She set down her camera and fished a brush out of a basket filled with various grooming supplies on a ledge beside her.

“What kind of dog is he?” Charlie asked, sinking cross-legged onto the floor and starting to brush the dog with long, gentle strokes.

“He’s a Newfoundland,” Rowena said, retrieving the book and leafing through it. “They’re so strong and brave and such great swimmers that they save people drowning in the water.”

“Like taking lifesaving class at the Y?”

“Yeah. But sometimes they can save people even if nobody ever teaches them to. It’s a natural gift.”

“A New Found Land would be a good thing to have if there was a tidal wave.” Charlie stroked the brush through Clancy’s thick black coat. “My watch works underwater. Just in case.”

“In case there’s a tidal wave?” Rowena asked, astonished. “In Illinois?”

“I’m not stupid. I know you can’t have a tidal wave here. But my daddy said he’d take me and my sister to Disney World sometime. There’s an ocean there. It never hurts to be ready, just in case.”

Rowena’s chest squeezed. This poor little mite wasn’t thinking of meeting Cinderella and seeing the castle or going on the rides when she went to Disney World. She was worried about a tidal wave. What had made Charlie so insecure that she was forever thinking of disaster? Did her parents have any idea how scared she was? And what on earth could calm the little girl’s fears?

Charlie put the brush down and rose up on her knees to see the pictures in the book. A Newfie leapt out of a rescue helicopter into a rough sea. A second shot showed the same dog grabbing a rope with its teeth to haul a life raft full of people to shore. Another image captured a swimmer holding on to a dog’s thick tail while the Newfoundland paddled to safety.

“Could your dog do that?” Charlie asked.

“I’ve been working with Clancy on water rescues. I hope next summer his new owner will take him for even more training.”

“You mean he’s not your dog?”

“Not for keeps. See, I always get this feeling about who a pet should belong to. I don’t feel that when Clancy is with me, so I’m just taking care of him until I find him the right home.”

Charlie’s eyes widened, something sparkling in them for an instant before the little girl put the emotion out.

“Somebody’s going to be so, so lucky,” Charlie whispered, slipping her arms around the dog. “You’d never have to be scared if you had him around.”

The child sounded so sure of it, her voice filled with yearning. Rowena felt Charlie’s small hand close around her heart.

Charlie pressed her cheek against Clancy’s side. She gasped. Shyness evaporated. The dread Rowena had sensed in Charlie’s glances toward the door disappeared. “I can feel his heart beat!” Charlie marveled.

Rowena dropped to her knees beside the pair, her intuition singing. “I’ll tell you a secret, Charlie.” Charlie raised her head to peer into Clancy’s face. Clancy tipped his head to one side, examining the little girl bare inches from his licorice black nose, as entranced with Charlie as Charlie was with him.

Rowena’s heart nearly pounded its way out of her chest, the roaring of instinct inside her so loud she barely heard the bell above the shop door jangle behind her.

“Clancy’s been wishing for someone to love him for a very long time.”

“I’d love him,” Charlie’s so-sad eyes brightened, her pale face almost beautiful.

“I know you would.” Caution struggled to surface in Rowena. Don’t get the child’s hopes up…don’t set her up for disappointment…

But look at her, Rowena reasoned. How sad she looks, how small…what kind of a parent would deny such a woebegone little girl a pet who could make her feel safe? Bring her back to joy? If she were my little girl…

But she’s not, her sister Bryony’s voice chided gently.

Rowena tried to stop the words, but they spilled out in spite of her efforts. “It’s obvious you’re a very responsible girl. Maybe you’re old enough to take care of a dog now.”

Charlie shook her head gravely. “My daddy said no more.”

“Maybe when he said that he didn’t realize what a remarkable young lady you’d grow into. Maybe he didn’t know…” Rowena hesitated.

“Know what?” Charlie asked with such hope in her eyes Rowena couldn’t stop herself.

Rowena shoved back the last vestiges of caution as she cupped the girl’s soft cheek, peered into Charlie’s solemn eyes. So deep she could see the child’s soul.

“Do you know what I think, Charlie?” she asked, more sure of what she was about to say than she’d ever been of anything before. “I think Clancy has been waiting for you his whole life.”

“Really? But how-how do you know?”

“He told me.” Whoa, Rowena, she thought. A little too much honesty there. The kind that tended to get her in trouble.

Doubt warred with a desperate need to believe in the little girl’s eyes. “Dogs don’t talk,” Charlie said at last.

“Not like you and I do. But Clancy told you he likes you, didn’t he? His tail wagged. He licked you. And just look at his eyes. He hasn’t taken them off you for a second.”

“Charlie!” A sharp masculine voice from the shop behind them cut through the magical web of understanding between Rowena, Charlie and the dog. They all three jumped, Charlie with a dismayed squeak, Rowena with an oath as Clancy’s massive head slammed into her nose.

The big dog surged to all fours in front of them, instinctively putting his bearlike body between Charlie and the angry man stalking toward them.

“Daddy!” Charlie exclaimed, leaping to her feet as the thundering footsteps on the tile floor drew nearer.

Half blinded by the dog hair in her eyes, Rowena looped her arm around Charlie’s shoulders, hating how stiff they’d become.

Rowena blinked hard to clear her blurry vision. When she managed to do it, she wished she hadn’t.

Deputy Cash Lawless stormed toward her, another little girl in his arms, fury blazing in his eyes.